Murder at Castle Howard Christian Huyeng
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HRISTIAN
Copyright © 2024 Christian Huyeng
Beckeradstr. 12 45897 Gelsenkirchen autorbuer@gmail.com
Coverdesign: Christian Huyeng
Editor: Godebes Buch.Werk.Statt All rights reserved
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 1
"Hush, you must be quiet... goodness, you almost dropped the key, pay a bit more attention, or you'll wake the neighbours!"
"Damn it! There are people in this house who engage in decent work!"
Robert managed, on the fourth attempt, to insert the key into his apartment door. He bowed to the invisible audience in the hallway and then practically shot into his apartment.
Wow, maybe he had had one too many glasses of champagne. Or maybe the last whiskey was a bit off? It tasted strange, some American stuff. To drink or not to drink – that was not the question! He grinned at his own reflection and then casually tossed the key next to the crystal bowl. He took one last look in the mirror and fixed his dishevelled hair. "You'll never see the likes of him again!" he said and grinned even wider. A triumph, the newspapers would be full of it tomorrow. Who would have thought that they could bring such a worn-out ham as 'Hamlet' to the stage so brilliantly? Well, at least he was Hamlet, but still! He slipped out of his shoes and left them where they were. Someone would probably take care of them. Now just off with the bowtie, another tiny nightcap, and then off to bed...
Robert hummed to himself and walked through the long corridor of his apartment when he stopped. Oh, what was lying on the dresser? He grabbed the envelope that the careful Milly had placed there and felt an uncomfortable sobriety at the sight of the expensive paper and golden writing. He held the envelope away from him like a poisonous animal and squinted his eyes. When he cautiously opened one again, the letter was still there. Dammit! No! Anything but that – how dreadful! Who hated him so much? He read the name and cursed every member of that horrible family...
He staggered into his study to find a letter opener, almost threw the inkwell on the expensive carpet, hit his head on the lamp, and then decided, cursing, to simply tear open the envelope with brute force. With a crest! Why? What had he done to deserve such a letter – an invitation? Of course, he cut himself on the paper. Cursing, he sucked on his finger and stared hostilely at the malicious letter. No one should find such letters in his apartment without warning. That was... unfair. An ambush, so to speak.
To endure this, he urgently needed another drink. He went back to his beloved living room and poured himself a whiskey – after another glance at the thick paper envelope with golden writing in his hand, he decided that it
was probably better to make it a double. With the drink in hand, he went to his brand-new leather sofa, grabbed the silver cigarette case, and only after taking a big sip and a deep drag did, he feel strong enough to read the letter.
"Thomas Montgomery, Earl of Withermore, and Lady Elizabeth Montgomery request the honour of your presence at the wedding between Viscount James Fitzgerald Montgomery and the honourable Lady Alicia Winterbourne..."
He groaned and quickly took another sip. The usual blah blah followed... a whole weekend of festivities, with all the horrors that the rural nobility had to offer. Banquet, dance, reception... why? He had really done everything to fall out of favour with his noble colleagues! A bachelor with strange friends, a city apartment in London, a career as an actor... goodness, what else did he have to do to no longer be invited to such dreadful events just because he happened to be the Duke of Carham? Pure waste of time, these festivities! You had to constantly wear old-fashioned clothes, change several times a day, and always talk about the same dull topics – not to mention with people you couldn't stand, but with whom you were usually somehow related.
Despite the fog that the alcohol spread in his brain, a new horror crawled along his spine as he read the date. No! Not that too. Robert threw himself back on the sofa, and the letter sailed to the floor. Shaking, he shook a fist toward the ceiling.
"You did this on purpose, just because I haven't been to church a few times, admit it at least!"
He had already started the diet early to look fantastic in Brighton. With a small cry, he sat up again, grabbed the glass on the exquisite table, and emptied the rest of his drink. The others would curse him!
Oh, one thing he was sure of: He would behave so badly at the little Montgomery's terrible wedding that he, Duke or not, would never be invited to one of those stupid events again! One could only hope that Princess Margaret wouldn't show up either, even he couldn't behave that badly...
He had to laugh at the thought. Yes, tomorrow he would start thinking of a whole series of impertinences... and maybe he could borrow some of the hideous clothes from Mildred. Yes, she really had the worst hats in all of London... That would be fun. Robert looked at the clock and was a little shocked. Mildred! She was coming for breakfast tomorrow! Well, she never
got up before eleven, but it was almost three, and he wanted to at least be a little presentable. So quickly into bed. Well, maybe one more drink...
"Good morning, Sir!"
Robert turned grumbling in bed and tried to ignore the intruder. He couldn't really remember how he had gotten here. After the terrible letter, Robert had had two, maybe three scotches, and he remembered singing a song. However, he wasn't sure if he had only imagined the subsequent applause. He groaned and pressed the pillow to his face. Such impertinence – it couldn't be 'morning' yet, never. Besides, apparently, a cat had slept in his mouth!
„"Go away, Winston!" he exclaimed from an almost impenetrable fortress of pillows, but his butler knew no mercy and was already pulling open the curtains and opening the windows. Infernal bird twitter penetrated the bedroom, and Robert felt as if a woodpecker were hammering at his temples.
"What time is it?" he asked, trying to decide which of the two blurry figures before his eyes was really his butler.
"It's quarter to eleven, Sir, and your... guest is already here."
"Oh, darn!" Robert tried to jump out of bed but then sank back onto the mattress with a small groan.
"I took the liberty of bringing strong coffee and a glass of Alka-Seltzer, Sir."
"You're a gem, Winston!" He managed to open his eyes wide enough to recognize the glass that his butler handed him. He quickly drank the nasty stuff and placed the glass next to him on the nightstand. "Please, the coffee, goodness, this stuff is awful. Are you grinning?"
"It would never cross my mind, Sir. By the way, Miss Henderson sends word that she will be a bit late today. I'll retreat to the kitchen now, Sir, to prepare breakfast for you and your guest."
"Do that – oh, and Winston, since when has that envelope been on the dresser in the hallway? The invitation, I mean."
"Oh, it has surely been on your desk for two weeks, Sir. Miss Henderson told you right before the gala. Then it lay in the living room for about three days, and yesterday morning, Miss Henderson told you that she would place it on the dresser so that you would really read it, Sir."
Then the butler left, and Robert sat on his bed for a moment. A breakfast with Mildred, he would hardly survive that in this state. But it was all
pointless. If he stayed in his room, that dreadful person would just barge in. He really needed to be more careful in selecting his friends. He cautiously felt his head to make sure there wasn't really a woodpecker hammering against his temples, then, groaning, he heaved himself out of bed and shuffled quietly cursing into the bathroom.
He needed almost half an hour in his little wellness temple to be at least halfway presentable and even managed to shave without cutting his own throat. A good performance, considering the moderate hand tremor. He almost looked like a person again.
Goodness, the times when he could drink all night and start the next morning fresh were definitely over – for about twenty years now... Wrapped in his red morning robe, he looked in the mirror one last time, tidied his hair once more, and sprayed a bit more cologne on his face just to be safe. Then he pulled a face, took a deep breath, and faced his guest, who was already waiting for him in the dining room.
"Roooooobert, Darling, I thought you were dead! Heavens, we have looked fresher before!"
"Mildred, how beeeautiful, but what happened to your hair? Did something die in there?"
"That's a hat!" Mildred said with feigned outrage and then approached Robert, kissing him on both cheeks. Mildred's beard scratched against his freshly shaved skin.
"Why are you so stubbly? Is that a beard, by any chance?"
Mildred – alias John Hebconsworth – dramatically clutched his chest and then collapsed into the chair. "Never in my life, Robert Darling. I find a moustache borderline acceptable on you, but on me? Mon Dieu, jamais! I simply had a strenuous night and didn't get around to shaving this morning. By the way, how do you like my new jacket?"
"Very... purple, I would say."
"That's not purple, you silly cow! It's mauve!"
Robert rolled his eyes and sat down while Winston began serving breakfast. What John was wearing was... extravagant, to put it very kindly. Today, the chaos of colours, patterns, and materials caused him a moderate migraine and slight nausea.
"Does... the lady... want juice?" he asked, and Robert burst out laughing.
"If you can find a lady, send her away. She really wouldn't belong in here and would turn all red. And no, no juice, we'll stick with coffee."
"Very well, Sir."
"Your butler is quite cheeky!" said Mildred, lighting a cigarette and placing it in his ivory cigarette holder. "But well, I'm used to that sort of thing. Anyway. Tell me, Darling, Rachel, and Tiffy want to know if the rooms in Brighton all have a sea view. They whined in my ears all evening yesterday, you can't imagine. Tiffy met this Charles, you know, that ridiculous little actor from the provinces? No? Anyway. He invited her to a hotel, and the poor thing must have suffered terribly. No room service, lousy breakfast, and not even a bath in the room. I told her, 'Don't get involved with such a provincial orange!' But did the silly girl listen to me? No, of course not. And as for Rachel, I won't even start. She was with her aunt up north, and afterward, she becomes utterly unbearable. You know the two of them. Such snobs. Tiffy even bought a new swimsuit, although I think someone with such a hairy chest..."
"Yeah, uh, Brighton, well, there's a little problem..." he said, quickly shovelling some scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"This can't be serious, Robert! We've been planning this for almost a year. If you tell me they cancelled at the hotel, I'll crumble. And I swear you'll tell Tiffy and Rachel because I can't stand the shrieking under any circumstances."
Robert shook his head and quickly took another forkful of egg.
"No, don't worry, everything's fine with the hotel, no, even better than fine. Everything's excellent. You can tell the two 'ladies' that, of course, all rooms have a sea view. After all, the house is right on the promenade."
Mildred looked at him sceptically and, under the monstrosity he called a hat, raised a carefully plucked eyebrow.
"Robert Ashford, I swear I'll haunt you in your dreams if you leave me alone with those two hens on vacation."
He quickly took a sip of coffee.
"No! This can't be serious! Robert! What is it this time? A gala you can't cancel, like '53 when we wanted to go to Scotland? Or tickets for a premiere that couldn't happen without you, like '54, when I had to go alone to Biarritz with these two harridans?"
"I'm sorry. Something came up at the last minute, but I can join later. It would only be three days, and..."
Mildred threw herself so dramatically backward in the chair that Robert feared he would crash into his brand-new chest of drawers.
"What is it this time? Hmm? Are you at court or something? I swear, if the Queen Mother hasn't personally invited you to Balmoral, there's no excuse I'll accept!"
"Something like that. A wedding, in Yorkshire. Believe me, I'd rather lie on the beach with you madmen than entertain myself in such an old box with terribly boring men and women, playing charades and getting served bad food. But you know how it is. Sometimes you can't get out of it."
Mildred forcefully pulled on his cigarette holder and blew the perfumed smoke directly into his face.
"No, Darling, I don't know how it is. Not everyone among us is a princess! And now call your impertinent butler. I really need champagne for such a shock!"
Robert sighed. Really, he needed new friends...
After three hours of juicy gossip about the city's theatre scene, Mildred had left, and Robert wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. However, his assistant still had urgent things to discuss with him.
"Mr. Ashford, did you finally manage to open the letter?"
"Do I hear a slight accusation?"
"No, a heavy one. I can't do my job properly if you don't open your mail, Robert. Because if I'm supposed to schedule appointments, I need to know what you have."
"Oh, Millie, just open the letters..."
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the chair opposite him.
"Fine, I'll do that from now on. But you still have to decide which appointments you'll attend and which you won't. I can't do that for you. What was in the letter?"
"It said that you need to go shopping soon, Miss Henderson, because we're going to a wedding. Oh, don't get too excited. It's the worst kind of wedding: a noble one!"
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Chapter 2
The car rumbled over the rough roads, and around them was... nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were sheep, hills, and quite a bit of... landscape... Yorkshire, after all. The city of York itself was already behind them, and the way to Castle Howard was not far. Robert sighed and accelerated the heavy Rolls Royce a bit. He would have preferred to drive his Aston Martin, but with all the luggage, there wouldn't have been room for Miss Henderson's suitcases, let alone the lady herself.
"I really don't know why you're in such a bad mood. It's quite lovely here, and from what I've read about Castle Howard, it's quite an impressive castle."
Robert glanced briefly at her and furrowed his brow. Lovely? Impressive? Such sentiments could only come from his apparently very naive assistant!
"Miss Henderson, apart from the fact that it has been raining since we left York, Castle Howard is, above all, one thing: horribly uncomfortable."
She looked at him with confusion, poor thing. People always thought it was terribly luxurious to live in a castle, when, in fact, it was just annoying.
"Every little girl dreams of living in a castle, Robert. And you never take me to Hatfield House."
"Oh, please, not this topic again. I really don't want to spoil your delightful childhood dreams, but from painful experience, I can tell you that the sanitary facilities in houses like this leave much to be desired. And everything is so terribly... old and musty and... just awful. You'll run your feet sore in a place like this, believe me; there's always a draft somewhere, it creaks and groans so loudly at night that you can hardly close an eye... I can see you don't believe a word I'm saying, right?"
She looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Castle Howard's tasteless dome soon.
"It can't be that bad. But you seem to have a personal dislike for this place, can that be true?"
Robert remained silent and looked at the road. After all, you always had to expect that some sheep might suddenly appear in front of you. Personal dislike? Pah! That might be one way to put it. After all, he had spent two particularly unpleasant summers in Castle Howard as a child. It had been raining incessantly, and the younger brother of their host had turned out to be a little sadistic devil, tormenting either the pets or the servants. At least,
as long as Robert himself didn't become too much of a target. For hours, oh no, days, he had hidden from the little rascal in the attic or in the expansive park, almost catching pneumonia. But as soon as adults appeared, Holden played the perfectly well-behaved boy, and no one believed Robert that he was the devil incarnate. Maybe Holden would choke on a fishbone at the gala dinner... One could still dream!
"It's none of your business, but I had to spend the holidays here as a child, which was an experience I would have gladly done without. And now enough of the terrible past; let's focus on the dreadful present."
She just smiled and shook her head. Well, she would see soon enough...
"I really tried to remember, but how are you related to the Montgomerys?"
Robert drove up the driveway to Castle Howard, which boasted of being the first Baroque building in England – for whatever reason that should be an accolade. This architectural style fit about as well on this rainy island as... there was really nothing that fit worse here. Baroque should evoke images of blooming gardens and passionate inhabitants; such things were more suited for the French. Yes, exactly. Or Italians...
"Do you really want to know? I mean, noble family trees are... depressingly convoluted and sometimes rather circular..."
"You know I find all of this terribly interesting."
"Fine, then best take out a sheet of paper and jot it down; otherwise, you might get confused later."
She smiled at him in that way. Well, she had asked for it.
"My grandfather, Robert Charles Ashford, fourth Duke of Carham, was married to Lady Sybill Anne Thornthorphe, daughter of the Marquess of Landings. They had two children, my father, Robert-Andrew, fifth Duke of Carham, and Lady Beatrice. My Aunt Beatrice married George Montgomery, the seventh Earl of Withermore. The two of them had two sons, Thomas, the current Earl of Withermore, and Holden Peter, as far as I know, still a bachelor. Thomas is married to Lady Elizabeth Branson, daughter of James-Walter Branson, eighth Earl of Grantham. They, in turn, have a son, James Fitzgerald, Viscount Elderton – and he's getting married."
She looked at him and then smiled. "You know, Robert, sometimes you really are a snob. Let's leave all this title nonsense aside; it's really not that complicated: The bride's father is her cousin, and the groom is her seconddegree nephew."
Robert thought for a moment. "Uh, yes, that's right... you always get a bit mixed up because you always say 'cousin,' no matter how you're related..."
"A cousin is indeed a cousin, but the son of a cousin is then a seconddegree nephew..."
"Are you sure about that? I mean, isn't that then a second-degree cousin?" Robert furrowed his brow.
"No, no, a second-degree cousin is the son of an uncle or aunt of the second degree, and that, in turn, is the son or daughter of a great uncle or great aunt, that is, a brother or sister of a grandmother or grandfather. A third-degree cousin would be..."
"Please, stop, that's awful! Now I know why people always say 'cousin.' Besides, we're here."
The car stopped on the gravel-covered courtyard of the castle, where several cars were already parked. Guests got out and walked to the entrance, where the host and hostess, as well as the soon-to-be-wedded couple, were already waiting for them. A young man in a fantasy uniform opened the door, and Robert and Millie got out.
"Sir?" he asked, waiting.
"Robert Ashford, Duke of Carham, and this is my assistant, Miss Henderson."
"You have the Regency room, Sir. I'll have the luggage brought in. And Miss, if you could follow me to the entrance for the staff..."
"Excuse me, but Miss Henderson is my assistant, so she certainly won't be using the staff entrance. "
The man turned red, nodded, and then walked over to one of the other liveried fellows. Heavens, it was like being under Queen Victoria here! If he didn't already know why he couldn't stand Castle Howard and its residents...
"Robert, I don't mind!" Millie whispered to him, but he shook his head.
"Oh, but I do mind. We're not in the Middle Ages anymore. Staff entrance, really. This isn't Buckingham Palace, my dear. No, you'll accompany me, and they'll assign you a nice room in the house."
"Really, I don't want to cause trouble..."
"Roooooobert, Darling!" A thin woman with an enormous hat and a coat that looked like a mange-ridden run-over leopard came rushing towards them.
"Mary, my dear, how nice to see you. Tell me, have you lost weight?"
The skeleton with the hat and hairstyle gave him a toothy smile. "Oh, always so amusing, our Robby. Don't you want to introduce me to your charming – and surprisingly young – companion? We had almost given up hope of ever seeing you in the company of a woman again, Darling!"
"Mary, this is Miss Henderson, my assistant. Miss Henderson, may I introduce Mary Fitzjames, Countess of Hilford and one of my really oldest, oldest acquaintances."
She shook Millie's hand, who seemed a bit shy, and unabashedly examined her from head to toe.
"Oh, an assistant? How terribly modern, Robert. Well, but an actor as busy as you surely needs something like that. My dear, delightful to meet you."
"Where is your husband, by the way? Did he jump out of the car during the ride? Or is he just terribly drunk again? I mean, Darling, no offense, but who could blame him?"
Mary's face darkened, and her left eye twitched slightly. "I need to go inside and greet the family. You never know what this clumsy staff does with the luggage..." And with that, she disappeared towards the castle. Robert grinned and watched her go.
"Charming woman, isn't she? Get ready for more of that sort. Now, let's go see where they've put us, shall we?"
"Robert, how wonderful that you could make it!" Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek, and her husband, Thomas, shook his hand vigorously.
"I wouldn't miss the wedding for..."
"James," Miss Henderson whispered to him.
"I know," he snapped back. "My goodness, how much you've grown, a proper man now!"
The addressed one smiled a bit awkwardly, as one does when strange relatives say odd things to you. Robert shook his head inwardly. When had he become a strange aunt? All that was missing was pinching the poor guy's cheek; heavens. However, he had to admit that James had really turned into something. Tall, athletic, and slender, with radiant blue eyes and goldenblond hair. In London, the ladies would probably line up to go out with him.
"Uncle Robert, may I introduce you to Alicia?"
"Pleased to meet you, my dear. You've really got yourself a handsome young man!" Why was he saying such nonsense? He apparently urgently needed a drink and a few hours of sleep.
"Very pleased, Robert!" said Alicia, looking at him with her dreamy, big eyes, almost a little shy. She matched James perfectly – and this castle. If one were to imagine a fairy princess, she would probably look like this pretty thing with blonde curls and a charming smile. Her companion seemed like a small, grey mouse next to her and looked down at her shoes.
"Who is this lovely lady?" he asked, but the addressed one hardly reacted. "Oh, that's my maid of honour and best friend, Maude." He extended his hand, which she shook shyly. My goodness, a handshake like a dead fish.
"Robert, as I can see, you've come with a lady, who would have thought!" Holden grinned broadly at him, and Robert looked him up and down, then smiled.
"Holden, I almost didn't recognize you! The belly suits you, really! Almost as good as the bald head, my goodness. So... cosmopolitan. But you've come alone, I assume? Or did you bring that lovely Miss Coco, like that one Christmas, oh, that must be ten years ago already. Really, thinking back to how she could dance..."
Holden turned red, and Elizabeth and Thomas looked a bit embarrassed.
"Well, this is Miss Henderson, my personal assistant, and I thank you, Elizabeth, for assigning her a beautiful guest room. Maybe next to mine? Oh, and I hope you haven't put me in that hideous..."
"Your companion can stay in Lady Georgina's Dressing Room; that can be arranged splendidly, Robert."
"I really don't want to cause any trouble; if Lady Georgina needs her Dressing Room, then..."
"I insist, Lilly, thank you! I'll leave you to your other guests now. Come, Miss Henderson."
They entered the castle, and Robert, who had been here so often, just wanted to quickly get to his room. However, Miss Henderson stopped and stared almost bewildered at the lavishly painted dome that rose over the huge marble entrance hall full of statues of some dead Greeks reaching towards the sky.
"My goodness, this is..."
"Quite pompous? Yes, I know... Baroque, after all, can't be helped. Imagine this in winter; it's awfully drafty, and you'll catch your death having breakfast..."
"I've never seen such a magnificent room!" Miss Henderson exclaimed with sparkling eyes. "You can immediately picture a romantic movie being filmed here; don't you think? Or one of Miss Airy's novels. A beautiful young lady meeting a handsome Duke here, in this castle... Something from the early 19th century, Regency perhaps. Oh yes, I can almost see it!"
Oh well... this hall usually had this effect on normal people... And a novel by Isobel, no, Castle Howard didn't even deserve that. Although... "Marble everywhere, like..."
"In a bathhouse?" he asked, but she stared delightedly at the floor and the walls.
"No, like in a fairy-tale castle, I meant!"
"If you say so. Although, fairy tales fit already; they are usually quite brutal and not nice and romantic in reality..."
"I really can't understand why you're in such a bad mood! Anyway, I'm excited to get a close look at such a castle. After all, you've never taken me to yours."
Robert ignored the little teasing and went to the immense staircase. "Come, I want to change – you have to constantly change here, but you'll notice. Actually, you only change, there's hardly time for much else. By the way, Lady Georgina won't need her Dressing Room; she's been dead for about two hundred years. Thinking about the interior of that room, it was probably suicide. I suppose I have her former bedroom, awful! Lilly knows I can't stand this room; it's way too... plushy. But the Dressing Room is right next door, and I assume they'll put a bed in for you. Apparently, even this ostentatious building is a bit overwhelmed with all the guests. Well, come on now, you can stare later!"
He had gotten Georgina's bedroom. They did it on purpose! That canopy above the bed alone... gold brocade, heavens, why was the Regency era so terribly tasteless? At least he didn't have to endure those overtly red silk wallpapers that Miss Henderson had to deal with in the Dressing Room. Although she probably found them 'romantic' or 'sumptuous.' He groaned and rubbed his temples. This was like a nightmare, no, even worse, like a time travel back to his childhood. Now he had to grin a bit at himself. Castle trauma, well, if that wasn't a luxury problem. Still, it was probably no wonder that so many noble ladies in earlier centuries lost their minds. He would have probably jumped out of the window after a week in this room. Robert sighed and lit a cigarette after opening the window. Everything in
his room was golden. Wallpapers, inlays on the furniture, the covers on the monstrous bed, the curtains – and of course, the canopy. The expression 'gilded cage' took on a whole new meaning here. However, the room also felt quite stuffy, he thought. Overall. At first glance, the castle looked just as he remembered it from his childhood, but upon closer inspection, he saw dust on the furniture and in the corners, and the windows hadn't been cleaned in a while. He looked out into the lush gardens and frowned. Even here, everything didn't look as tidy as one would expect when half the high nobility of the island was visiting. He knew from his own painful experience how elaborate and, above all, costly it was to maintain such a house – and his family seat, Hatfield House, was even larger than Castle Howard. But when guests arrived, you usually brought out all the splendour that had been stored in crates since the end of the Great War. You played Empire again, relived the good old times. Unless... well, unless you lacked the necessary funds. Oddly, people always gossiped about it when one of the old families ran out of money, which was constantly the case. Nobles simply couldn't handle money. If, on top of everything, you had to maintain a park and a huge castle, financial ruin was essentially preplanned. Not for nothing, there were more and more exclusive hotels, senior residences, and expensive private schools that utilized the large houses instead of the noble country dwellers. But he hadn't heard anything of the sort about the Montgomerys... Well, if the family was really broke, he would find out eventually. After all, half the high nobility was gathered, and no one gossiped more extensively and maliciously. He extinguished his cigarette and finally changed.
"Miss Henderson, are you ready? I think we should mingle with the guests!" he called, freshly changed, combed, and at least minimally refreshed, through the closed door that separated their two rooms.
The door opened, and Millie looked at him with a hesitant expression.
"What's the matter, darling? You don't seem particularly thrilled. Is the bed not comfortable? I can talk to Lilly..."
"No, it's not that. The room is absolutely wonderful, really! I just... well, I really don't know what to talk about with the guests. I'm a secretary from Seldson, and down there, it's teeming with Countesses, duchesses, and..."
"Oh, come on, they're just ordinary people," he lied. Most of them were anything but ordinary, but probably in a different way than Millie thought.
"Really, I would find it terribly awkward. It's normal for you."
"Don't be ridiculous! Princess Margaret cancelled, so no one from the royal family is coming—well, except for the Duke of Kent, but..."
She stared at him completely bewildered. "The Duke of Kent? Please, Mr. Ashford, can't I just explore the castle a bit?"
He sighed. "I was hoping for your support, but fine. Most people there are terribly boring anyway. But you'll join for tea. No, don't give me that Corgi look; it doesn't work on me. And a little well-intended advice: First, this thing may be called Castle Howard, but nobody says 'castle.' It's a house, Millie. And the second tip: Don't even try to use the correct title for anyone. No one gets 'milorded' and 'miladied,' understood? We don't live in the 19th century anymore, and you're not part of the staff. Just be yourself, and nothing can go wrong. And now, chop, chop, explore the place while I mingle with the illustrious guests!"
She beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Ashford, thank you so much!" And she was gone. He shook his head, grinning. Well, then, into the fray.
"In my room, there's a terrible draft!"
"Yes, Your Grace, I will report it to the butler!"
"And where are my hatboxes, Barrow?"
"I will check right away, Your Grace."
"Really, have you seen the mirror in my room? It's tarnished, Barrow. The housekeeper here must be truly incompetent!"
"I'll take care of that too, Your Grace!"
Robert stared at the lady who, accompanied by her maid, sailed down the corridor like a 16th-century war frigate. The things women wore these days!
"Oh, Robert, I didn't know you were coming too!"
"Violet, my dear! But of course, I couldn't miss such a splendid celebration. So many lovely relatives!"
The old woman laughed loudly, her eyes sparkling mockingly.
"Robert, you're truly a joker. We only come to see which scandal has shaken one of the families this time, don't we? So far, I'm extremely bored. Nothing is happening here. Well, the bride's best friend is some little nobody, but that doesn't seem to bother anyone these days." She leaned on her cane and studied him. "But now that you're here, I hope for at least a bit of scandal. I hear you arrived with a young lady. Have they managed to match you despite your dubious reputation?"
Robert clutched his chest. "Dubious reputation? Moi? But I beg you!" They both laughed. "I must disappoint you, dearest. The lady is only my
assistant."
"You don't say. Today really has everything, a female assistant, ha! In my time, we still called that a mistress!"
"Well, my dear, I can assure you—or disappoint you—Miss Henderson is indeed just my assistant, a secretary, you could say. I no longer travel with a valet; I can actually put on an unbrushed jacket. Well, that's modern life for you. By the way, a wonderfully absurd hat! Did you keep it since Queen Anne's coronation?"
She chuckled. "Oh, Robert, not everyone has to equally appreciate the socalled benefits of the modern world, I suppose. I just believe a corset gives a lady the proper appearance. And the hat is from King George V's coronation. Queen Mary also ordered all her hats from there at the time, if you want to know."
"That explains everything! Shall we go terrorize the others?"
He offered her his arm, and she laughed. "I can still manage to walk down a corridor alone, Robert!"
"But I can't, it's been a tough week!"
Together with the Dowager Duchess of Milford Haven, he strolled through the wide corridors of the house, following the laughter coming from the Turquoise Drawing Room.
"Are you still an actor?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh, well, one hears things, you know. I thought you might have changed professions. Rumour has it you're suddenly interested in crime."
Robert raised an eyebrow in surprise. It had only been a tiny article. Typical, no one read triumphant reviews of his Hamlet, but if two sentences were written about him acting as an investigator, the whole Empire got wind of it.
"Do you have skeletons in the closet?" he asked, and she smiled at him.
"Who doesn't? I just hope you don't plan to pursue your new hobby this weekend."
"Do you plan to murder someone, Violet? I know a few candidates where it wouldn't be too bad."
She laughed. "The only thing being murdered here is valuable lifetime. At my age, that's a capital crime."
Robert smiled. "Aren't you looking forward to the wedding at all?"
"You caught me. Don't tell the others I have a heart. But joking aside, my dear, young James is a very charming man and visits me regularly, unlike the rest of this terrible family. And you wouldn't believe it, he seems to do it willingly and even enjoys it."
Robert nodded and led Violet into the room. She wasn't known for being particularly amiable, and he knew that since her husband's death, she lived alone in the large house. Surely, despite her denial, she was quite lonely. The visit of a handsome young man was undoubtedly a welcome change.
"So, now I'll sit on one of these ridiculous sofas and complain about the youth. Look, there's the Dowager Countess of Grantham, that dreadful person. I think I'll drive her a little mad! Harriette! My dear, how lovely..."
Robert watched her amusedly as she rushed like a force of nature, in a corset, lace gloves, and a hat fit for the funeral of a small continent, towards poor Harriette. Women like Violet devoured Harriette for breakfast.
Robert looked around the room a bit. Viscount Barrington was chatting with two men he didn't know but nodded at him. In one corner, the Countess of Hilford and the Baroness von Weichelstein sat. No, that was out. They would only talk about horses again. Two others were playing cards...
He lit a cigarette and hoped to find someone he either wasn't related to, didn't know, or at least didn't find extremely boring or repulsive. The selection quickly dwindled. Terrible... Maybe he should sit with the bride and her shy friend, who had taken a seat on one of the small sofas near the window.
Oh, who was that? On one of the hideous blue sofas—repeating it once again, the Regency era was an epitome of bad taste—sat a young, almost exotic-looking couple, in their mid-thirties, black-haired. She in a simple summer dress and he in a dark uniform, a powerful moustache, and curls tamed with a lot of pomade. She sipped tea, he smoked a cigar, and both seemed to want as little attention as possible. Italians, perhaps, he thought. No, probably not. Italians weren't invited; the nobility of the peninsula was half pirates and half Bourbons... Although he would have preferred a few pirates to most of the attendees. They probably had something interesting to say. Or Greeks? No, the Greek nobles he knew were mostly German—or Danish—or both. And he certainly didn't look like Prince Philip.
"May I join you? Robert, very pleased!"
The man looked at him almost puzzled, but she smiled.
"Please! This is my husband, Enrique, and I'm Almudena, very pleased!"
Ah! Spaniards! That explained why they both looked a bit worn out.
"What brings you to England, if I may ask?"
"Oh, we're distantly related to the groom. And please excuse my husband, he speaks very little English."
"But that doesn't matter at all," he replied in fluent Spanish, and Enrique looked at him surprised.
"So, related? I am too, but well, who in the nobility isn't related to each other, right?"
"My wife is the niece of Countess Elizabeth," he said.
"Oh, right. Mary married the Duke of Marmonte, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Exactly. We met in Seville, at the Feria," he said, taking her hand. Delightful.
"And how are you related to the Montgomerys?" she asked.
"Thomas is my uncle. Is this your first time in England?"
They chatted for a bit, and he learned that the young man's real name was Enrique Francisco, the Marqués de Tordesillas, and had served in the army. Almudena had attended school in England but had returned to Spain because of the war.
"Have you ever been to Spain? Your Spanish is excellent!" she said after a while. Enrique offered him one of his cigars, and he blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling before answering.
"Once, yes, in Madrid. But that was ages ago. Heaven, I dare not think about it. That was... let me think, 1926, I believe. Oh God, now I'm blatantly revealing how old I am. That was at a ball by Alfonso and Ena, I think for their twentieth wedding anniversary. Poor guy, thinking about it now." Actually, especially poor Queen Ena, because Alfonso XIII. had been a terrible womanizer, who even courted his aunt Beatrice at that ball, to put it kindly. However, Enrique's sad face revealed that criticism of the now deceased ex-king wasn't a good topic for small talk.
"Those must have been glamorous times. Honestly, I can't remember the monarchy era anymore. I was only seven when His Majesty had to leave the country. Enrique was already thirteen; he can remember much better, right?"
He nodded with a dark look and sipped his Scotch.
"Oh, uh, look, it's almost half past four! Tea is coming up, so we still have to change. Yes, I know, hideous English custom, but what can you do? I'll
retire, but we should continue our conversation urgently, perhaps after dinner?"
He stood up, and the two Spaniards also rose.
"I would be very pleased. I also have something to attend to. Good thing you kept an eye on the time, Robert!"
"See you later!" he said, nodded only to the Dowager Duchess, who seemed to have succeeded in bringing Harriette to the brink of a nervous breakdown, and then went back to his room. Alicia and that Maude were still sitting on the small sofa. Apparently, the bride was indeed more of the quiet type, not to mention her friend. Could she even speak? Anyway, now he had to hurry, and all this just to have tea and some overly dry pastries with the same people in a different room and attire...
Miss Henderson was a devilish traitor! He had already checked the library three times, but she was nowhere to be found. Oh, just wait! Robert sipped from the thin tea with milk and glanced around the large room. There were many books, and he was sure Thomas had never read them.
"Is it customary to have tea in the library in England?" Enrique asked, appearing next to him, and sceptically eyeing the scones on his plate.
"Indeed, yes. Actually, it's the usual purpose of this room. You look almost shocked. Now, don't tell me Spanish nobles read?" he asked with feigned horror, but received only a puzzled look.
"I find it a bit strange to eat and drink here. Some of the books look very valuable."
Robert nodded and then led the Spaniard to one of the old-fashioned seating areas. Violet was also missing, he noticed. Instead, Alicia, along with her friend, was engrossed in a conversation with two other young ladies.
"Do you actually know the bridal couple?" Robert asked, and Enrique shook his head.
"Not very well. We've crossed paths once or twice. James seems very friendly."
"He's a nice lad, indeed."
Well, that pretty much exhausted the conversation topics. The others were probably talking about polo, cricket, or gardening. Terribly exhausting.
"So, you live in Seville?" he asked after a while, just to say something. "Yes."
Wonderful. A truly delightful conversation. Alicia and this Maude were now alone in the room again, and he decided to exchange a few words with them.
"Excuse me, I'd like to pay my respects to the future Lady Montgomery." He approached the ladies.
"Alicia, Darling, you look stunning. I suppose, so close to your big day, you must be excited."
Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, very, Robert. I can't quite believe it yet. It will surely be a wonderful celebration; I just hope the weather cooperates. Today looks very stormy, and we were planning to have the reception in the garden on Sunday."
"That sounds very... romantic. And you, Maude, are you excited too? Being a maid of honour is an important task."
Maude stared at her shoes again. Good Lord, apparently, this girl had the most interesting feet in the world.
"A little," she said softly. "Is it true that you're actors?"
"Yes, quite right, my dear. Do you enjoy going to the theatre? I could certainly get you tickets if you..."
"Maude doesn't like large crowds; she's a bit shy, isn't that right, my dear?" Alicia said, placing a hand on her friend's arm.
"Yes," she said softly. "I think I'd like to lie down again before dinner, is that okay? I don't feel well, and..."
"I can accompany you..."
"No!" she said surprisingly sharply. "That's not necessary; you stay here," she added in her quiet and flat tone. Then she left Robert and Alicia standing.
"Excuse my friend. She gets terribly nervous when meeting strangers. I think everything here is a bit too much for her."
"Oh, for who isn't it? It must also be intimidating with earls and duchesses everywhere."
Alicia smiled, but it seemed a bit sad. "Certainly, that too. But it's more of a... nervous condition."
There it was, the first gossip. "Oh?"
"Two years ago, Maude had a riding accident. It was quite severe. We were here at a hunt at the time. If it weren't for James, Maude might have died. She fell badly, and James found her and brought her back to the house.
The doctor said she had taken quite a blow to the head, and since then, she often suffers from anxiety and migraines."
"Poor thing." He already knew why he couldn't stand hunting parties.
"Alicia, there you are!" James walked towards her and embraced his fiancée.
"Uncle Robert, do you mind if I steal away my future wife? We still have a few details to go over regarding the dinner."
Robert smiled at James. "Certainly not, but on one condition: please drop the 'uncle'; otherwise, I'll feel terribly old!"
"Promise. Are you coming, Darling?"
"It was a pleasure, Robert!"
"Mine too, my dear. Come on, run along!"
He watched the young couple, who looked so happy and in love. Apparently, marriage was indeed the right institution for some people. Good thing he didn't belong to that group... OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 3
Robert could hardly believe his eyes as he, freshly dressed for dinner, offered his arm to Miss Henderson.
"The dress is stunning, truly!"
She smiled shyly and blushed a bit. "Thank you. Will it be... suitable?"
Robert nodded. Simple, elegant, black—certainly much simpler than the lavish dresses of noble ladies, but in a way, much more charming.
"You will undoubtedly be one of the most elegant ladies, believe me! Did you have a lovely afternoon? I missed you at tea."
She giggled. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I got carried away chatting with one of the gardeners. Well, then I had tea with him and two of his colleagues in the park. We only went inside when it started raining..."
"Was he at least attractive?" he asked with a grin, then looked out the window. Rain was pounding against the panes, and the wind howled around Castle Howard. It looked like a veritable summer storm.
"Mr. Ashford! He showed me the roses and such. What you always think!"
"So, he was attractive..."
"Yes, quite..."
"I knew it. You are quite a character, Miss Henderson. While you were flirting with a handsome gardener, I had to listen to tragic stories about the bride's friend. I think you owe me some compensation!"
"Oh, a tragic story? You absolutely must tell me."
"You are truly an incorrigible romantic," he said, leading her along the long corridor while summarizing the story briefly.
On the way to the grand dining hall, they encountered other guests, and he noticed that Millie, in her simple dress, didn't seem to feel very well. The abundance of diamonds, tiaras, diadems, and lace was indeed quite intimidating. So, he took her aside again before entering the sumptuous hall.
"Listen to me now, Millie: you look stunning. You don't need diamonds and pearls distracting from your face. Don't let all that sparkle and glitter unsettle you. Believe me, most of those people don't have more money than you—just significantly less charm, wit, or spirit. No tiara in the world compensates for a lousy character—trust someone who has seen more of those things than is good for him. And now, put on your best smile and
enjoy yourself. The house may be a tasteless box, but one thing must be said for the Montgomerys: they've always had the best chefs in Yorkshire in their service!"
She bravely smiled at him, and then they entered the hall. Two rows of tables were set, as always, with immense floral arrangements, which could be described as either annoying or very helpful. Robert leaned towards the latter because they hindered conversations with the people sitting across from you.
Miss Henderson had been placed quite far from him, and he quickly glanced at the place cards on both sides. Oh well, it could have been worse. To his right, the nice Spanish Marqués would sit, and to his left, the Dowager Duchess. Ah, there she was. Apparently, she had stumbled while dressing and had unfortunately fallen into the family jewellery casket.
"Violet, if I had known you would be wearing the crown jewels of Eshnapoor tonight, I would have brought sunglasses!" he said, pulling out her chair.
"Robert, my dear, at my age, one cannot wear enough jewellery; you'll find out someday too!" She sat down, but Robert noticed that she seemed a bit jittery.
"Thanks for the tip, Violet. Perhaps you'd like to leave me some pieces in your will."
"A tiara would probably suit you better than many ladies here. Look at what Harriette is wearing on her head. Say what you will about you, but you have style. Something that many gentlemen and ladies here obviously lack... Good Lord, I feel a bit dizzy. It must be this terrible storm. I am so sensitive to the weather."
Robert refrained from making a comment about witches and bad weather because Violet indeed did not look particularly well.
"Here, have a sip of water!" he said, filling her glass.
By now, the other guests had also taken their seats. He nodded to the Spaniard, and there was a short speech from the bride's father. Robert kept an eye on Violet, who discreetly wiped the sweat from her upper lip with a napkin. Her face looked flushed, and she seemed to have difficulty breathing. Really! Wearing a corset out of sheer vanity at this age didn't seem like a particularly good idea.
After the polite applause following the speech, servants filled the wine glasses, and then the soup was served. Violet took a small sip of the wine
and then ate some of the soup. But after just a few spoonful, she pushed the plate away, breathing heavily.
"Is everything alright?" he whispered, but she nodded.
"It'll be fine in a moment, the dizziness, you see... I always feel a bit nauseous..."
Robert was slowly genuinely concerned because the dowager duchess audibly gasped for air, and her hands trembled as she reached for her water glass.
"Should I perhaps accompany you to your room?" he asked, but she seemed not to hear him at all. She groaned, and now her sweat was clearly visible on her forehead. She swayed, and her seat neighbour also became attentive, looking more annoyed than concerned.
"Dearest, you bumped into me; could you perhaps..." she began but fell silent as Violet gasped and apparently tried to stand up. Robert also stood up, wanting to offer her his arm, but Violet collapsed. The other guests murmured, and some made derogatory remarks, which Robert noted but initially ignored.
"Come on, Darling, I'll take you..." But as he took her hand, it lay limp in his.
"I need a doctor! Immediately!" he shouted, and genuine unrest broke out in the hall. The bride's father seemed genuinely outraged by this disruption, and no one moved. Robert sharply addressed one of the servants.
"Go, run, get a doctor!"
The servant nodded fearfully and actually ran off. But Robert already knew it was too late. And as he waited for the doctor, the storm intensified...
Some of the other guests had also complained of nausea after Violet's collapse, and, of course, the dinner had been cancelled. Panic had gripped some of the guests, and they had to be escorted to their rooms to be examined by the hastily summoned doctor.
Robert stood in the Green Salon with the other men, staring out the window, drawing thoughtfully on his cigar. The storm had worsened, and it took Dr. Averton almost half an hour to reach Castle Howard. Violet had been taken to her room, and a group of women had ushered all the men, including him, out. Well, it was surely well-intentioned, but one didn't need to be a doctor to know that no one could have helped Violet anymore.
"What a shock!" said Thomas, who stepped up next to him. "Well, Violet always loved to be in the spotlight..."
Robert turned around and stared at the Earl.
"That's tasteless," he said, then turned back to the raging storm outside the window.
"Excuse me, it must be the shock speaking. Well, but you have to admit, she could hardly have chosen a more dramatic moment to have a heart attack, could she?"
"Chosen? Really, Thomas, sometimes you're an idiot! And why 'heart attack'? Have you talked to the doctor? I thought Lady Furlington and Lord Harlan complained of nausea. Maybe you poisoned them with the swill you call wine."
The Earl sighed and also lit a cigar.
"Well, I might have expressed myself a bit... tactlessly. But Violet was eighty-five, Robert, and she had a weak heart, that was widely known. All the excitement, the journey from Suffolk here. I told Elizabeth right away that it probably wouldn't be a good idea for her to come. Well, we see the result now. Heavens, Robert, what a storm. I think I should tell the servants to close the shutters in front of the windows..."
Robert hadn't heard anything about Violet having a weak heart. And that was the favourite topic of old ladies. No, Violet had the constitution of an old warhorse. On a hunting trip last year, his mother had barely prevented her from participating in the par force hunt. On the other hand, heart attacks sometimes came suddenly and out of nowhere.
There was a bit of movement in the group of assembled men as Dr. Averton entered the salon, nodded to the gentlemen, and then went to Thomas. Robert just stayed in his position, continuing to look innocently at the raging storm, but his ears were pricked.
"And?"
"Well, it could indeed have been a heart attack..."
"Then let's leave it at that, shall we?"
Oh, what kind of comment was that?
"Milord, I'm not entirely sure... I mean, it could have been something else, but a more thorough examination would be necessary, and..."
"My dear doctor, what else could it have been? A lady of her age, all the stress, the excitement..."
"Well..." The doctor pulled the Earl a bit closer, and Robert didn't understand what he whispered. But he did understand the outraged response.
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